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Halo: Avenger's Quest
Part One: Hunt for the Outcast Part One Archive Part Two: The Ones Steeped in Darkness Part Two Archive Part Three: Wretched Hive Chapter Twenty-Two: Approach Aboard the bridge of the ''Chieftain's Pride, Mallunus surveyed the wall of holograms that sprang up around his elevated command platform. Massive hands clenched behind his back, he strode from one bank of data to the other, surveying each one with cold, impassive eyes. Clad in full armor and sporting his battle-scarred gravity hammer on his back for good measure, he was truly an intimidating sight, particularly to the multi-species command crew hard at work throughout the bridge stations below him. "Has any data come in from the ships I dispatched to the mining sector?" he demanded, glaring down at the communications officer. "No, not yet Chieftain," the Kig-Yar officer stammered. "They report no contact with any hostile forces. No ships other than our own have entered that area since the attacks." With a dismissive snort, Mallunus turned back to his data. These attacks could not have come at a worse time. With the daughter of the most powerful criminal in the galaxy now conducting business in orbit around his planet, he needed to present the best impression possible, one of a secure planet that could serve as a staging grounds for all manner of criminal enterprises while remaining a safe place for all to do business. With the Syndicate serving as the middleman for nearly all of Famul's dealings within Interspecies Union space, the support of the Powells was not just beneficial--it was critical. And maintaining order on Famul was like keeping a fire going on top of a few dozen crates of high explosives and keeping the whole thing from going up in flames. And Mallunus hated it. He missed the old days back after the Covenant had dissolved, when he didn't own a planet and needed only a few ships crewed by a loyal, bloodthirsty pack eager to raid the humans and their Sangheili allies. Back then, he hadn't needed to curry favor with presumptuous human cubs or tolerate the glib words of Sangheili nationalists like the Fallen. All that had been required of him was a firm grasp of tactics and a willingness to lead his pack into battle after battle without any sign of fear. That had kept him young and alive. But he had steadily gained more and more until finally he had almost been forced into settling Famul and cultivating the small empire he now dominated. And though the consequences of that achievement were draining him on a daily basis, he couldn't back away from the power he now wielded. Not without living the rest of his life swathed in regret. He had tasted wine from a cup that few of his kind ever lived to drink from, and once he had taken his first sip there had been no going back. Were this a real battle he'd be assembling his ships now, barking orders to eager warriors and preparing to defend what was his in a savage battle of life and death against an enemy determined to utterly destroy him. But the enemy he faced now wished only to humiliate him, to make him look weak before his pack and those who depended on him to defend Famul from the long arm of the Interspecies Union. This enemy didn't need to kill him in order to win; they just needed to evade his grasp and his own followers would do the rest. "Keep this entire system on high alert," he growled. "Get in contact with every shipyard in the sector and make sure that only scheduled arrivals are allowed in, and then only after a thorough background check." "Shinsu 'Refum has returned to the ship," the communications officer reported. "He and his aide are within the quarters you set aside for them." Mallunus waved a calloused hand. "I'll begin negotiations with them once I attend to this matter." If he was going to pull a profitable arrangement out of this, he would need to hold the strongest position possible. The Fallen might be weakened, but they weren't so far gone that they'd allow a weak chieftain to make demands of them. "The Jade Princess has entered orbit around the planet," the communications officer continued. "It signals that it wishes to conduct business for several days here." "Fine. But order the fleet to keep an eye on them." He wouldn't put it past the Syndicate to have arranged all this just so it could replace him with some younger, more malleable successor. Of course, he wasn't sure what he could do if he did discover a Syndicate plot other than to simply survive it. If he started a war with that organization, it would starve him of resources of business, begin an unending string of assassination attempts, and if he continued to hold out it would use the political influence it had garnered through corrupt politicians in the IU to send waves of human and Sangheili warships descending on Famul like an avenging swarm. One way or another, he would be eliminated. All this churned within Mallunus's head, but he kept his face impassive. Appearances had always been important for a chieftain, even before he had taken over Famul, and he couldn't let his crew see how worried he really was. Where was the mighty chieftain now, he wondered distantly. That warrior who had once crushed his enemies with such impunity seemed lost, replaced instead by some aging bumbler who was merely a small cub in a massive galaxy. Somehow, Mallunus felt a cold twinge inside him that he couldn't quite place, as if an invisible noose was slowly being tightened around his neck. *** "Well, here we go," Diana noted, smoothing the folds of her transparent skirt. "One pirate world coming up in ten. Don't say I didn't warn you when they disembowel you meatbags and strangle you with your own intestines." She swept an arched, holographic glance across the four "meatbags" gathered in the shuttle's cockpit. Simon was at the controls in the only seat, while Cassandra and Tuka had strategically positioned themselves between him and Fira. All four were decked out in full combat gear, which Simon had assured them was the dress norm on Famul's surface. Cassandra had both her armor and medical bag with her, along with a pistol and assault carbine strapped to her waist and back. Fira wore the dark, insignia-less combat suit he'd worn on Gamma-13 while Tuka had the same, light traveling skin he'd had since his journey began. "We'll have to find something better for you," Simon had said earlier. "Something that doesn't collapse after one punch." "I have better mobility in this," Tuka had protested. "Believe me," Simon had replied. "When you're up against an angry chieftain and his hordes of followers, you'll want more than just mobility." Now Tuka stroked the hilt of his energy sword anxiously, staring at the cockpit's blast shields as the shuttle shuddered and lurched its way out of Slipspace. Once they were on Famul, there truly was no turning back. He would either kill Mallunus or die trying. Or, as a filthy, treacherous part of his mind noted, he could kill Mallunus and still die trying to escape. He wasn't sure which would be worse: to die at the hands of such a powerful chieftain after spending his entire life preparing for their encounter, or overcoming his mother's killer only to be brought down by some warrior's lucky shot with a spiker rifle. The shuttle gave one last, bracing lurch that sent them all jerking forwards. "And we're in," Diana noted, twiddling her fingers. "Resetting all nonessential systems and contacting orbital defense ships. Nice knowing you all." She paused and tapped her chin. "Well, I wouldn't say it was nice spending the last days of my existence with you idiot meatbags, but I can't say it wasn't entertaining." "Can it," Simon muttered as the blast shields began to rise. "Can't say that spending the past two years with you was a bed of roses either." Tuka looked past the bickering partners, staring at the brown and green planet that floated before him in the viewport. He'd seen plenty of it in Simon's holograms, but to see it in person was something else entirely. It was big and growing bigger as the shuttle hurried towards it, but Tuka's attention was drawn to the hundreds of specks that floated around it. Famul was surrounded by ships and orbital stations, and as they drew even closer he could see that they were from all manner of the galaxy's civilizations. There were the battered Covenant warships of course, but there were also human vessels mixed into the teaming throng of trafficking space craft as well as Kig-Yar privateers and Lekgolo bond-ships. Several asteroids had been dragged into orbit around the planet and, from the looks of things, converted into orbital stations that were hives of moving ships unto themselves. "It's incredible," he breathed. Never had he imagined that a lawless pirate world could be so vibrant, so full of life. "Yeah, look at the cool spaceships," Simon muttered irritably. "Believe me, you guys'll have had enough real soon." A light flashed on the cockpit's dashboard. "Heads up," Diana called, pointing a glowing finger at the viewport. "We've got company." "Just a security patrol," Simon explained, running a laconic system check on the dashboard. "Don't worry, they do it for everybody who comes in here. They know this ship, so this'll be quick." "Hey, dumbass," Diana asked. "The last time we were here, didn't they send a couple Seraphs in to check us out?" "Yeah," said Simon, still engrossed with the dashboard. "So?" "So, this time they didn't send Seraphs." "And? What's the deal?" "This time they sent a corvette." "What?" Simon jerked his head up and all four organics stared up at the viewport as the bulbous nose of a Covenant-made corvette swam into view directly in front of them. Tuka could see swarms of fighters darting around its hull and its forward plasma batteries looked both operational and ready to fire at any time. "Well, this is new," Simon muttered. "Diana, warm up the Slipspace drive." "And do what with it, blow up the ship?" she demanded. "It's pretty simple, you idiot, that hunk of junk you call a Slipspace drive can only fire once every four hours. I told you to upgrade the damn thing after that Aphrodite Nebula job, but as usual you didn't listen and now we're all gonna die, so you can't say I didn't try." The corvette drew nearer, and its plasma turrets swiveled to aim in their direction. Simon bristled, finding strange things to get angry at as the warship approached. "As if we could have afforded--" The comms station crackled, putting an end to their bickering. They were being hailed. "Attention, shuttle 34572-74," a rasping voice growled over the speaker. "This is Violent Usurpation. State your business on Famul." Tuka felt his hand unclench from his energy sword and looked down, surprised. He hadn't realized how tightly his body had stiffened when the corvette had been bearing down on them. Cassandra wiped her brow and even Fira looked relieved. "I'm just a merc looking for some job ops down there," Simon said into the speaker. "Got some passengers, too. Two squid-heads, one other human like me." There was a pause on the other end, and Fira glowered at the back of Simon's head. "Squid-heads?" he asked coldly, perceptive of the insult even when it came in a human language. "It's a Brute on the other end," Simon hissed back. "Saying stuff like that will butter him up. Do you really want to die over a stupid name?" Before Fira could come up with a retort, the speaker crackled again. "Our scans confirm your story," the Brute pirate said, almost sounding disappointed. "What about cargo?" "Just a shitload of small arms," Simon said impatiently, his eyes darting up to look at the corvette's plasma weapons. "I don't plan on selling any of it down there." Another interminable pause. Tuka fought to keep from clenching up again. Finally, the Brute's voice returned. "Proceed to the docking bay you are scheduled for on the surface," it rasped. "Do not deviate from the standard course or you will be fired upon." The corvette banked; it was heading off, leaving the shuttle drifting in its wake. Simon leaned back in his seat. "Shit," he muttered. "They usually couldn't care less what the hell I'm doing here. What's going on?" "It doesn't matter," Fira snapped. "They let us through, so head for the surface before they get suspicious." "Yeah, yeah," Simon grumbled. "I'm warning you guys now, though, this place doesn't get any better." The shuttle rumbled to life as he guided it towards the planet. "If you thought Gamma-13 was bad, you won't be able to breathe on this world." Chapter Twenty-Three: A Pirate World It had been a stable world, Famul, one amongst millions of life-supporting planets throughout the galaxy. A breathable atmosphere, a small but vibrant population of non-sentient organisms, and a stable global ecosystem had blessed it with several million years of peaceful, unsettled savagery. It had floated amongst the stars, untouched by the wars and troubles that shook the galaxy beyond its distant sun, a veritable Eden sleeping amidst an ocean of fire and destruction. But the brief, troubled peace that followed the Human-Covenant War was to prove the sleeping planet's undoing. Mallunus had been a young chieftain when he and his miniature fleet had discovered Famul, full of wildness and bloodlust and the vaunting ambition that made any warlord believe that the galaxy could be theirs if they simply drowned it in enough blood. He had taken one look at this planet, overflowing with life and potential, and claimed it as his own. The first of his conquering warriors had descended to plant their chieftain's flag on the surface and claim everything there as his and his alone. They had established the first base camps and the conquest of Famul began. At first, Mallunus and the Jiralhanae who followed him wished to keep their private world a secret, a place that they could retreat to and strike from at their choosing. But such a secret gnawed at his mind, haunting him with the possibility of discovery until he could bear it no more and turned to a method of protection he remembered hearing of from the bloody lips of a dying human prisoner during interrogation. That method was something the humans called "The Cole Protocol." Armed with the procedures that had kept Earth safe for over two decades of unending war, Mallunus and his pirates resumed their raids until the space lanes were littered with the burning husks of their victims and the navies of the Interspecies Union were filled with the rumors of their exploits. It was all a red-blooded Jiralhanae chieftain could have asked for. But the galaxy could not be held at bay forever. Forces were on the move, forces that had no toleration for the independance-minded dregs who had crawled out of the rubble of the Great War. The Interspecies Union, with its combined military forces of humans, Sangheili, and their allies, stamped out the new generation of criminals and mercenaries wherever they were found. The Syndicate, beginning to truly flex its muscles as the galaxy's leader in organized crime, demanded the underworld to bend its knee or face extermination. Those unwilling to toe the line of intergalactic law or submit to the Syndicate were left adrift, desperate for life outside of the civilized galaxy. And Famul would prove to be their salvation. Mallunus now commanded a fleet that rivaled even the mighty battlegroups of the Interspecies Union. Whenever he encountered a rival chieftain, he slew him and seized the loyalty of the dead warrior's pack. Power was flooding to him, but with that power came the knowledge that he would not last long if he continued to fling himself in the face of the Interspecies Union. His dreams of conquest were not to be. And so Mallunus did the unthinkable, humbled himself before the galaxy, and withdrew to the one place he held firmly in his grasp. He had turned Famul into a bastion of Jiralhanae power, complete with civilian settlements, a small shipyard, and orbital defenses. He now assumed full control of his planet and flung open its doors to the mob of independents--the scum of all species--who flocked to the system to conduct their dark business. Famul held attractions for everyone the underworld had to offer: hard men like David Kahn, rebels like Redmond Venter, gleeful savages like Kenpachus, bitter creatures like Ro'nin, lost outcasts like Mordred. They all found their way into Mallunus's domain to find business or purpose, and the ill-gotten money poured through Famul in the billions. Mallunus now had the power over the teeming throngs that came through his planet. He held the reigns of a pirate fleet with warships numbering in the hundreds and a pack of warriors numbering in the millions. His words could end the lives of hundreds in an instant. He had everything a power-hungry chieftain could want. But the vultures were circling. Mallunus had fended off assassination attempts from without and within, had put down surface rebellions until Famul's forests and deserts ran with the blood of all species. And he was beginning to lose his edge. Famul was a world of blood, money, and suffering. From the thousands murdered in the streets of its shanty towns every day to the millions of slaves who passed through its auction booths on their way to an eternity of servitude, the strong consumed the weak and each other in equal numbers. It was a powder keg of savage violence, containing the potential for enormous destruction if directed by the right person. Mallunus was not that person. But another warrior had laid his eyes on the prize that was Famul and was now moving to seize it for his own. Fresh from the killing fields of Sanghelios, from the loss of friends, home, and everything he had once believed, Shinsu 'Refum had set the gears in motion for what was to become the foundation of his own lofty plans. He had plotted his ascendency with the care of a grand master strategist, and now the pieces were falling into place with his deceptive arrival on Mallunus's own flagship. Famul was ripe for change. But now, four new pieces that neither Shinsu, Mallunus, nor any of their pawns could have predicted had arrived on Famul. And they were ready to turn the wretched hive on its head. If they weren't killed by it first. Chapter Twenty-Four: Five Versus the World The chieftain bellowed, the shock of its roar slapping against Tuka like a gale-force wind. A hammer came up out of the darkness, an ornate killing machine that rose impossibly high before slamming down and crushing his world to dust... He was surrounded now, encircled by a wall of human shapes garbed in shadowy armor. They all raised energy swords in a salute while a single mocking laugh echoed all around him. He spun frantically about, desperately searching for where the first attack would come... And now he stumbled backwards as a taller Sangheili in dark armor slid out of the darkness to stand over him. It looked down on him and shook its head, a whisper sliding from under its helmet like a gust of wind. Though Tuka couldn't hear what it said, anger coursed through his veins and he drew his blade, charging at the distorted warrior with a cry of challenge... Tuka's eyes snapped open and he darted upright, only to smack his head painfully on the low ceiling. He clenched a yell behind his mandibles and rubbed his aching skull, blinking slowly as he remembered where he was. The shuttle's common area was as cluttered as ever, the piles of weapons looking slightly sinister through his blurry eyes. He slid out from under the blanket he'd scavenged from the shuttle's survival gear and crawled away from the alcove he'd taken shelter in--and hurt himself on. Across the room, Cassandra was sitting up against a wall, still wearing the armor Simon had given her. Her helmet was still on, but from the way her head was tilted off to one side Tuka could tell she was still asleep. Her medical bag rested on her outstretched legs and some of its contents--needles and canisters mostly--had spilled out onto the floor. Climbing unsteadily to his feet, he saw that the door to the shuttle's medical bay was slightly ajar. Fira might have been back on his feet, but Cassandra had insisted he sleep on the more comfortable medical beds for at least one more day. After their tense arrival and landing, Fira had been too tired to argue even with a young human. The door to the cockpit was also open, and as Tuka approached it he heard voices. But as he moved through the door, they fell silent. Moving up, he found Simon slumped in the pilot's chair, his armor strapped on only from the waist down. The rest of the suit lay in pieces around him, and he seemed to be performing some calibrations on his prosthetic arm. He looked up as Tuka drew near. "You the only one awake?" he asked, gesturing at a video display that showed security footage from the rest of the ship. "Guess Cassandra's gotten a bit shaky on that military discipline they drilled into us." "Fira's injuries are probably forcing him to rest longer," Tuka said quickly, not wanting the same assumption to be made of his companion. An Ultra like Fira would be horrified to have it implied that they weren't keeping up with their discipline. "Whatever." Simon looked back down at his arm. "I'm just glad he hasn't gotten all honorable on us about Cassandra treating him. We need him back in the game now if we have any shot at taking out Mallunus." "Right," said Tuka, leaning forward eagerly. "Do you have a plan yet?" "Me?" Simon laughed. "I'm just a mercenary, remember? You're getting the special Visag keep graduate's discount right now, but I'm still just hired muscle. Besides, won't your revenge be all that sweeter if you're the one who plans things out?" Tuka sighed in disappointment. "I'm no good at plans," he admitted. "If I was, I'd have found out more about Mallunus and this place before I even left the keep." "Well, you made it this far." Simon tightened a small knob on his arm, flexing it approvingly. "Gotta count for something." He leaned back into the pilot's chair. "Thing about plans is that they always fall apart right where you need 'em to start working the most." Diana's hologram flickered to live on the display. "Yeah, his plans always get screwed. That's why he couldn't go without me." "Yeah, because you're plans always work out," Simon retorted before turning back to Tuka. "You're problem is that you're way too honest, Tuka." "I've told lies before," Tuka protested, not quite sure why he felt he needed to justify himself in that regard to Simon. "Like the time we stole all that food back at the keep." "And whose idea was that?" Simon asked. "Well... yours." "That's my point. You can lie to people, though to be honest, even a human like me can tell you're terrible at it. You aren't devious enough to really trick somebody big time. I can't see you stabbing anyone in the back." "That would be dishonorable," Tuka protested. "It goes against everything Master 'Visag taught us as warriors." Simon shrugged, lifting a pistol off of the control panel in front of him and examining it. "Well, sometimes it's your honor or your life," he said casually. "You Sangheili are always the last ones to learn that out here, and it usually costs you. Big time." "I would never value my life over my honor," Tuka said automatically, his body stiffening as if at attention before some invisible officer. "Hate to tell you this, but that's what they all say." Simon tapped the pistol's barrel against his chest, which was covered only by a sleeveless white top. Tuka could see his bandages through the loose fabric. "At first." Tuka looked passed his friend and at Famul's gray morning sky. He hadn't seen much of the planet yet, just the sprawling shantytown they'd landed in, and so far he couldn't see much difference between it and Gamma-14. "Is it always like this out here?" "Oh yeah," Simon said. "You can't trust anyone on the frontier." "It must be lonely," Tuka murmured. It seemed awful to him, for someone to simply be adrift amidst an ocean of greed and savagery and betrayal. No keep, no comrades, no family to return to. And yet Simon chose this over returning to the Visag keep. What wasn't Tuka seeing here?